


petty (thief)

by Zaxal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Gen, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: Aziraphale catches someone trying to break into the Bentley and kindly menaces him away from it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	petty (thief)

He hadn’t been watching the car. Not exactly.

Sometimes, you just happened to notice the slick, sleek little number sitting in the best parking spot on the street. Antique, in perfect condition, clearly _not abandoned_. And maybe you kept an eye open, wondering who could possibly have that kind of dedication and taste while also being stupid enough to leave it unattended for a month.

He shivered, his breath steaming through his teeth as he neared the Bentley, the yellow lamps painting his shadow as it moved uneasily down the street.

It was stupid. He _knew that_, but there was this nagging impulse every time he walked past it. A series of quick peeks: admiring the interior, wrinkling his nose at the cassette player, noticing that there was something bundled up and stuffed under the seat.

That had been the end of the second week.

By the end of the third, his theories about what was badly hidden ranged from a discarded piece of clothing to something horribly valuable, possibly already stolen by a thief who thought they were too good to ever be outdone.

By the end of the fourth, he knew it didn’t _matter_ what he _thought_ was in the damn thing because he had to _know_. He had laid in bed too many nights, thinking to himself that he would go utterly mad if he woke up one day to find it and the secret it contained gone.

Casually, he checked the door. Locked. A quick glance around told him that he was alone, and he crouched, fumbling with his pockets to find the tools he’d brought with him. Get in, grab the bundle, get out, and he’d do his level best not to leave a scratch on her black paint. Swear to God.

“Hullo!”

_“Jesus Christ!”_ The sudden interruption startled him almost out of his skin. He jumped up, hands curling in his pockets around his tools as he pressed his back to the Bentley. He tried his best not to look as though he might have a heart attack at any moment.

The man who’d snuck up on him had the decency to look somewhat startled himself. “My word, are you quite alright?”

He pressed against the car, as aware of the siren song of whatever was shoved under the fucking seat as he was the fact that he should leave. Now.

“‘M fine,” he said. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“My most sincere apologies — I saw you bent over and assumed you were looking for something.” He gave a bright smile that was somewhat obscured by the soft shadows playing over his face, caused by the lamplight that caught in the frizzy, white curls of his hair. “I thought I might be able to help.” 

Harmless, probably helpful. A quick once-over, and he figured there was no way this was the real owner. He was too young, too stuffy-looking to appreciate a car like this.

He plastered on a smile of his own, aiming for grateful as his heart thudded in his ears. Actually, he’d take confused, maybe a little bit scared. This guy seemed like the sort who’d fuck off once he figured that he’d done actual damage. “I doubt it. I lost my keys. Somewhere between here and my flat.”

“Oh? Where do you live?”

He rattled off an address that was decidedly not his, hands curling around the cold metal in his pockets. A shiver wracked up his spine as the man tilted his head, musing. “That is quite a ways. And you’re sure you didn’t lock them in your car?”

The fact that locking the car from the outside without ‘his’ keys wouldn’t strike him as an impossibility for another few hours. “Wish I were. Might have to call someone to open her up for me.”

“But it’s so cold,” he said, all doe-eyed and sweet. “Dear fellow, you really should be somewhere warm.”

When had he gotten so close? The door handle dug into his back.

“My keys,” he said, voice so tight that it was almost a squeak.

“Someone will let you in, won’t they?”

God, what was he doing? Out here in the cold, wedged between a stranger and a car that wasn’t his — what the hell was he thinking? If he really needed to know what was in the car, he could come make a pass at it when the street was actually clear.

“Y— yeah. Yeah, you know what, I’m sure they will.”

“I’m sure it’ll be much easier to search by daylight,” the man insisted as if he hadn’t just agreed with him.

“Yeah, exactly,” he said, nodding along, hoping to get some room to breathe.

“Oh, but it is a walk. Here, dear, let me.” He reached up and started untucking the tartan scarf around his neck.

He wrenched himself out using the increasingly-small gap between their bodies. “No!” he said too loudly. It echoed off the buildings. “No, I— I’m sure _you_ need that. I’ll be— I’ll be _fine_. Thanks.”

His brow knit in neat confusion, and he, against all the odds, took another step nearer. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah! Yes, I’ll be, I’ll be good, just. Gonna head home. Right away.”

“You do that.”

He turned quickly to leave, only to hear that voice again, in a soft query, “Wouldn’t it be better to go the other way?”

He fled.

The moment he was alone, Aziraphale tightened his scarf again, huffing at the sight of the retreating thief. Inside the Bentley, a lump of clothes radiated demonic energy, practically forming a flame for the moth of human curiosity. He casually waved a hand, banishing it to Crowley’s flat to be dealt with properly whenever the demon stopped sulking about the weather.

And, for good measure, Aziraphale ran a hand over the door, removing even the faintest smudges with a small smile.


End file.
